


Living on a Tightrope

by 2amEuphoria



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alea Bright, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baby Brightwell - Freeform, Cabernet Red 45, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Family Feels, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Survivor Guilt, but like... not baby brightwell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2amEuphoria/pseuds/2amEuphoria
Summary: "She doesn't want them to know."Future oneshot fic.
Relationships: Dani Powell & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell, aunt & child relationships, parent & child relationships - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Living on a Tightrope

**Author's Note:**

> Like most of you, I'm "straight up not having a good time right now." So I wrote this.
> 
> Inspired by the soothingly numbing "Pyscho, Pt. 2" by Russ.

Whisps of hair brush the tears on her cheeks. She peeks out over her folded arms to see the other end of the pasture, the trees, the afternoon sun. Every few minutes Red’s tail flicks, a hoof stamps at an indignant fly, and the horse takes another step forward for a new patch of grass. Alea could care less where Red’s going; she’ll let the mare take her anywhere. Anywhere away from here.  
______________

She’d shut the door to Ainsley’s car without saying a word. After finding Red’s halter hanging up outside, she grabbed it an unhooked the electric fence at the pasture gate, yelping as it electrocuted her. With a shaky sigh, she’d hooked it back up and stepped inside the field. Not caring that her Sperry’s were sinking into the mud, that her mother might be disappointed that she’d ruined _another_ pair of school shoes, that she still hadn’t given her aunt an explanation for begging through tears to be driven to the barn.  
______________

She lies across Red’s back now, with her chin resting on the mare’s hindquarters and her feet crossed on either side of the warmblood’s powerful shoulders. She watches a dark Ford Edge appear over the horizon, sighs, and lets a fresh wave of tears pool into Red’s fur as she hides her face again.

She doesn’t want them to know. She knows it would break her father’s heart to hear that he couldn’t protect her from her grandfather’s legacy. She pulls an arm out from under her cheekbone to run an open palm across Red’s backside, hoping to draw energy from the mare to come up with a lie to tell whichever of her parents approaches her first.

Red snorts, and Alea’s ankles feel the horse’s neck rise up as Red lifts her head and walks off. A different spot in the field, a different patch of fresh spring flowers. The concerned voices of her parents and Ainsley’s pleas begin to fade, and Alea says a silent prayer, thanking her best friend for knowing that they were the last people she needed to be around right now.

She’s nine. She’s too young to be this old, this fast. To know about the 23 graves her grandmother lays flowers at, none of which belong to their family. To understand why her father, a grown man, has nightmares that top any overactive imagination a child her age could have. To feel the weight of guilt ripping through her lungs and settling into the floor of her gut when her classmate looked at her and said “your grandpa _killed_ the aunt I never got to meet.”

A whimper escapes her lips as she sobs. She’d give anything to erase the memory of today. She knows her father’s tried to do that before too.  
______________

“They hate me,” her voice managed to tell Red as she’d finally approached the mare, her legs wobbling from the walk and her agony and the pressure of the world on her sun-kissed shoulders from happier days riding this horse in a tank top.

“They... they hate me.” Alea sits on top of the long stalk of grass Red had been picking away at. Her lungs heave, trying to expel a scream, a curse, _anything._ Nothing comes out.

She feels warm velvet against her arm, her ear, her forehead as Red sniffs her. The horse takes another step forward until her massive front looms over her, creating a shade for Alea to hide her tears in. She feels the bay warmblood’s breath above her, making her curls dance at a different tempo than the breeze that surrounds both of them. She recalls what her aunt had told her once: that horses stand over each other, guarding one another as they rest in the pasture like they would do in the wild. That mares will rest their heads just above their foals, softly breathing on them to let them know that they’re ever present, never leaving. Alea leans forward, resting her head in her hands. Red nickers, low and gentle against Alea’s ear, as she begins to cry once more.  
______________

Her elbows lift and fall on either side of Red’s hindquarters as she walks on. Wherever Red’s taking them now, it’s nowhere near her parents. She can only occasionally hear her mother’s voice raise an octave, or her father’s “Dani, _Dani._ Listen.” A new weight settles in her stomach as she wonders if she’s causing them to argue with each other, with her aunt. Here she is, tearing a family apart. Just like her grandfather did, 23 times over. It must be inherited.

Perhaps Red found out that the back gate, the gate facing the trails, was open, and she’s walking to it now. Perhaps she’ll pass through it without a second thought and wander into the woods, trading the warmth of the sun for the cool hush of the trees. Perhaps they can continue on, past the boundaries of the county, past the state line. Perhaps they can keep going until she’s a stranger, her identity unknown. Perhaps only then will this extra weight disappear.

Alea feels the shade cover her back, and looks up to see pine needles overhead. Her heart falls when she notices the fence Red pulls up to, and Aunt Ainsley, peppermint puffs in hand, sitting atop one of the posts. 

“Good girl, Red,” Ainsley murmurs, ruffling the mare’s dark forelock. Red cracks a peppermint between her teeth, and Alea watches from a peephole between folded arms as Ainsley brushes the stickiness from the candy off on her jeans. “Thanks for taking care of our friend here,” Ainsley whispers to the horse, just loud enough for all three of them to hear. Alea and Ainsley’s eyes meet, and Alea squeezes hers tight. 

“You have your dad’s eyes, ‘Lea. You can’t hide them from anyone, least of all me.” She still views her surroundings from the space between her arms, though, watching as Ainsley holds Red’s halter with one hand while scratching the mare’s large cheek with the other. She reaches over to press an open palm over Alea’s back, making waves against the Central Park Horse Show t-shirt she was finally big enough to wear.

“‘m sorry,” Alea mumbles from behind the wall she’s put around herself. A few stray horse hairs threatening to invade her mouth.

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.” Long fingernails find their way to her hairline. Red nickers for more treats, and the breeze picks up, and Alea wishes this was what heaven felt like, having already served her time in hell today. Fingers trace over her forehead, and Alea marvels at all the hours Ainsley must’ve spent with her mother to realize that this sensation calmed her like no other.

“You wanna talk about it?” It’s a loaded question, and whether Alea wants to answer it or not, her hot eyes are already on the trigger. Salt-filled tears rim her eyelids, threatening to peak out, and she doesn’t want to do this in front of her aunt right now. The aunt who pulled her up atop Red with her for Alea’s first birthday, who threw her over her first jumps. Who squeezed her hand as they walked into every arena for a show. Who taught her to ignore every stuck-up, ignorant person “who’s made up a story about you before you got the chance to tell yours yourself.” She couldn’t bear to tell her that she couldn’t listen to that advice today.

Circles are pressed in between her shoulder blades, with the same precision her father uses to comfort her and her mother when they cry. The pressure makes some of the bubbling feelings in her chest threaten to pop, but it’s the touch of Red’s muzzle against her shin that makes her burst.

Her father’s arms are around her, guiding her body as she slides off of Red’s back and against his chest. Her mother’s fingers return to her hairline, and Alea feels her forehead being peppered with kisses. Ainsley unhooks Red’s halter and slides off the fence post to join them.

“Baby,” she hears her mother soothe her, “sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. You’re not getting punished. And I get that you’re upset,” Dani continues, pulling her fingers through one of Alea’s now knotted curls, “so you don’t have to talk to us yet if you’re not ready.”

“But sweetie,” it’s her father’s turn now, his voice like the gentle embrace his arms have around her, “could you tell Aunt Ainsley about it? You can ride home with her, or ride home with us and call her when you get home... Either way.” Alea feels his lips against the back of her head, and another fresh tear stains his suit. “But I think you have something you need to get off your chest. And I think you’ll feel better when you do.”

“I won’t say a word,” a third voice. Ainsley. “Red told me you like having someone who just listens. Is that why you wanted to go see her?” Alea uses the strength she has left to nod her head. Dani clicks her tongue and strokes her curls with more pressure.

“You got it then, kiddo,” Ainsley pipes up. “Not a word.”  
______________

Ainsley and Alea pull out of the parking lot first, and Alea’s forced to confront the sinking feeling once more. What if she makes her aunt cry, sharing the news that yet another generation knows the burden this family bears? What if she doesn’t shed a tear, and shuts down instead? What if she fulfills the role Red never could today, and drives both of them into the great beyond until she forgot who she was?

Her thoughts are interrupted by the car pulling up inches from the pasture fence and stopping. Her parents sit in the Ford Edge behind her. Alea sees Ainsley’s hand appear from the seat in front of her, extending a few peppermint puffs in her niece’s direction.

“For bravery, and for good luck,” her aunt murmurs. She then leans out the driver’s side window and whistles as loud as she can. “Red Girl Red! C’mere, pretty girl!”

Alea hears her before she sees her, almost feels the vibrations of the ground shaking under Red’s hooves as she crosses the field towards them at the edge of the pasture. A lump catches in Alea’s throat as she wishes she that could be even half as powerful, that she could make the earth signal others of her presence.

“Red Girl!” Ainsley coos when the mare trots up to her. “No, not me, you big dog; your favorite treat dispenser back here. She has something for you if you’ll give her something in return.” Ainsley turns back to Alea, smiles and says “take off your seatbelt, get close to her.”

Tears run as she strokes the bay mare’s soft face. Red’s kind eyes reveal nothing but adoration as her muzzle presses Alea’s hand for another treat. She contemplates climbing out the window and onto Red's back.

“Listen. Do you know what someone told me once?” Ainsley speaks over Alea’s sobs. “‘Soft heart, strong back.’ It means you’re open, and loving, and vulnerable, but you can hold yourself up, hold others up, and take on the world. You know who has both?”

“Red,” Alea cries as the mare munches on another peppermint. 

“That’s right. And you know who else, Alea? _You.”_ Alea sobs harder as Red extends her muzzle to her cheek, a tissue for her tears. “You are so sweet, and so loving, but you’re also so _strong._ You held yourself up enough to tell me what you needed today, to tell Red. And you hold Momma and Daddy up, you hold Cici* and Grampa Gil up, you hold Red and I up.” Alea feels Ainsley’s reaching thumb swipe a few stray tears away from her cheek. 

“I think you forget you have both a soft heart _and_ a strong back sometimes, though. And that’s okay; you just need a reminder.” Ainsley scratches Red’s ear, smiling at them both. “So give Red one last hug, and ask if you can borrow some of her strong back until you see her again. Until you remember that yours is there too.”

Alea hiccups a sob and wraps her arms around the mare’s large head, pressing a kiss against the sturdy bones of her face. Red nickers.

“Thank you,” Alea whispers to the mare as she licks Alea’s hands for traces of peppermint dust. “Thank you, Red Girl.”

“You ready?” Ainsley calls to Alea from the front. Once again, it’s a loaded question.

Alea presses her spine firmly against the seat and gives one last glance at Red. She nods her head, responding to both questions.

**Author's Note:**

> *Cici = Jessica. Because it occurred to me for multiple reasons that Jessica would NOT want to be called "Nana" like I'd called her in other fics.
> 
> Thanks for reading my emotions.
> 
> Stay safe, stay home (I'm serious about this one), stay well.


End file.
